OUR OWN STORY-TELLERS.

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXV, Issue 18352, 24 August 1929, Page 11

OUR OWN STORY-TELLERS.

THE LIGHTHOUSE MYSTERY. There it was, perched high up on the crags of a lonely island, surrounded by treacherous shoals and rocks. All day it might have been seen surrounded by slatey rocks; but at night a beautiful, comforting, golden beam shone from its portals, sweeping the blackness of the night as it steadily revolved. Mr. Jack Simmons and his friend Dick Weatherly were managing the light and particular night there was a high* sea running, with huge mountainous waves dashing against the rocks with a reverberating roar, looking as though they longed to reach the lighthouse and hurl it down and engulf it, while the wind howled round the building so that the inmates could scarcely hear each other speak “ ‘I think I’ll go up and have a look at the light,’ sez I. ‘There must be a weak spot somewhere, for the light’s none so bright at is might be.’ ‘Righo,’ replies Jack. ‘Sing out if you wants me, for at present I’m for keeping the fire warm.’ So up the steps I goes, whistlin’ cheerfully, and Jack remains besides the fire. When I reaches the door and opens it, I fee'ls myself step into nothing and down I goes and lands with a bump and nearly all me seven senses knocked outer me, for concrete be none too soft! I shouts and I shouts, but above the noise of the wind and sea I knows Jack wouldn’t hear. Goodness knows how long I had been down there when me heart suddenly misses a beat, for I hears Jack’s feet a-comin’ up the stairs, and afore I could say “Sarah Jane,” he was down atop o’ me! ‘Well,’ I says, ‘here’s a pretty kettle o’ fish! Now what’s goin’ to happen! Well, what happened was this. Down there we stayed with never a bite nor sup, for three days, until you and your gang arrived and Well, here us be and I says that if you don’t get that there trap-door fixed up good and tige, then I quits! Fancy havin’ a hole like that for good honest men to set foot into when they’s seein’ about their dooty! Now mind, either you fixes that hole or we quits!” That is the story Jack Weatherly told me when we came over from the mainland to investigate the lighthouse mystery, or in other words, to find out why, for three nights, there had been no light showing. Needless to say, the trap door was fixed. (5 Marks and a Merit Card awarded to “Wendy,”—Cecily Meredith, Timaru, aged 15.) HARD TIMES COME AGAIN NO MORE. As Avice hurried along the crowded thouroughfare, typical of a busy city, her mind was concentrated on the one all absorbing thought, to get a situation. Her upbringing seemed of no benefit to her, for there were too many singers of higher standard than herself, vainly seeking situations. Having applied for work varying from chorus girl and typist down to scullery maid, she had almost given up hope. But, as a rule, when one is least expecting anything, it turns up, and, as is often the case, from an unexpected direction. Six months ago her father, a widower, died, and everything was sold to pay off debts. For though Major Langdon lived highly, and was to all appearances wealthy, his banking account was very small and his debts numerous. Thus at seventeen years of age, Avice Langdon found herself a homeless and penniless orphan, seeking work that never seemed to appear. Vainly endeavouring to cross the street was a middle-aged woman, and in avoiding a tram-car, she found herself confronted by a taxi. Someone clutched her from behind and the car flew by, missing her by about a yard.

On turning, Mrs Loder found herself gazing into a pair of deep blue eyes set in a beautiful face, but a face upon which hardship had left its mark. A blue tam-o-shanter was perched on top of the girl’s mass of glossy, wavy, dark-brown hair, from under which peeped those aluring dark blue eyes. Mrs Loder, though greatly shaken by her narrow escape from death, was calm enough to take in the girl’s appearance, and, after thanking her in a none too steady voice, she asked her if she would kindly escort her home. When they arrived at a mansion, surrounded by gardens, shrubs, paths, and a vast expanse of lawn, Mrs Loder invited Avice—for Avice Langdon it was—to come and have a cup of tea. Avice gently but firmly declined, but Mrs Loder was equally as firm, and before she had grasped the facts of the situation, Avice found herself in an easy chair by a cheerful fire in a sitting-room far exceeding in luxury her wildest dreams. Historical paintings adorned the walls and the floor was covered with a beautiful carpet. Dotted here and there on the carpet were costly fur rugs. Evidently Mrs Loder was anything but poor. Having had a cup of tea the two began to talk. Mrs Loder was a millionaire’s widow, hei* husband having died a week after her only daughter. “You see,” said Mrs Loder, “I owe you my life. If my daugher had lived she would be just about eighteen, so won’t you let me adopt you, as you are alone like I am?’

Avice’s new home was a quiet one, but Mrs Loder lover her beautiful new daughter so much that she decided to give a party every month to relieve the monotony. With tears in her eyes Avice kissed the kind lady she called Mother and went to her bedroom to get ready for her first party. Yvonne, the maid, was to wait on her, and in half an hour Avice descended the stairs into the decorated dance hall, dresed in a flowing gown of blue georgette relieved with silver beads. Silver shoes and stockings and a single star glistening amongst her wavy hair completed her toilette, and as she paused on the lower stair everyone stared in admiration at her pure lovliness. At the conclusion of the party the queen of the evening was requested to sing, and her silvery voice, clear as a bell, rose in the well-known melody, “Hard Times Come Again No More.” (5 Marks and a Merit Card awarded to “Konini,” —Elsie Benbow, Pleasant Valley, aged 15). THE FRIGHT. As Christmas was drawing near the Drew children were becoming very excited. They were assembled in the kitchen making toffee to put in their Father's and Mother’s stockings on Christmas morning. To-morrow would be Christmas Day, and if the toffee was a failure there would be none to put in their parents’ stockings. At last, to their great joy, the toffee was finished and emptied on to a buttered plate to cool. “Ding! Dong!” Yes, that was the tea bell calling them to tea in the nursery. They hurriedly put the toffee away in the pantry and told cook not to touch it. That night, Joan, who was one of the eldest daughters in the Drew family, dreamt she saw a band of Fairies come through the pantry window. She crept down to investigate and there, at the door, were same naughty fairies eating up the toffee! Joan was too horrified to move, or speak. With tear-filled eyes she crept back to bed, thinking of what the others would say in the morning, when they saw the toffee eaten. Next morning all had breakfast, and nothing was mentioned about the toffee until Father and Mother came downstairs. Then the children went to get the toffee. Joan did not go with the rest of them because she thought it was eaten, but when the children came in bearing the toffee proudly on a

lovely plate, Joan gave a sigh of relief; because she knew then it had only been a dream after all.

(1 Mark and a Merit Card awarded to “Pat,” —Betty McCann, Timaru, aged 11.) THE HUNGRY FISHERMEN. Jack got up and rubbed his eyes. The sun was shining on a thick coating of frost on the grass. “Hooray!” he shouted, as he woke up his brother Peter. He suggested that they should go fishing and take their lunch with them. Both the boys smacked their lips as they talked about big jam tarts and nice cream cakes for these two were very greedy. They hurried to dress still thinking about the cakes. As soon as they reached the stairs they slid down the banisters and landed with a bump on the kitchen cat! They hurried over their breakfast, while the maid packed a delicious lunch.

At once they set out with rods and lines to the river. As soon as they got there, they started to eat their lunch. Suddenly Peter spied a bird’s nest up a tree. Both of them climbed up the tree, leaving the lunch-basket open. They took the nest, but when they were getting down Peter dropped it and broke the eggs. Forgetting all about their lunch for once In their lives, they started fishing. At first they fished up an old tin kettle, next a fish about three inches long, and all the other things they caught were snags! Suddenly Jack remembered the lunch, so they ran back. Hundreds of sparrows, blackbirds, thrushes and other birds flew up from it, and when they looked into the basket all they saw was a few crumbs! Feeling very hungry, they both ran home. They took great care never to leave their lunch-basket open again, and always remembered to eat their lunch at the right time. (1 Mark and a Merit Card awarded to “Hardrada,” —Nelson Sotham, Timaru, aged 10.) THE MAGIC CROWN. Perhaps some of the little children in Austria to-day still believe the legend which their mother may have told them about their Emperor's crown, which is the same as that worn centuries ago by Charles the Great (Charlemagne). It is a pretty story. At one time, it is said, during that

mighty Emperor’s campaign against the Saxon chieftain Wittekind, his army, and the people of the country through which he was marching, suffered agonies of thirst,- owing to a very severe frost, which had turned all the water into thick ice. As the Emperor rode along he saw a group of children crying because they had no water. He called one of the boys to his side, and said to him, “What is your name?”

“Babelink,” was the reply. Charlemagne took off his crown and handed it to the child.

‘“Well, Babelink,” he said, “place this thing on the ground, then draw a circle round it with a stick, and see what will happen.” Wondering, Babelink obeyed, and within the circle, through the crown a fountain of clear water sprang up out of the hard, frozen earth. There was enough precious liquid to quench not only the children’s thirst but also that of the army, and of everybody in the district.

“Kind hearts are more than coronets,” says Tennyson. According to this story, the two things for once, at any rate, went together. How one would love to possess such a useful crown as that! But I fear that the crown of Austria has lost its magic power—if it ever had anyl

THE BLACK-HAIRED PRINCESS. Once upon a time there was a country where the sun always shone. All the inhabitants were happy, and the secret of their happiness was that they all had golden hair that attracted the sun, and the sun shone into their hearts. When a little Princess was born to the King and Queen they were all horrified to hear that she had black hair. The wise men were consulted at once. “We find,” said they, “that unless the Princess is thrown into the sea before she is a year old a black shadow will fall over the country.” The King and Queen were distracted; the baby was so lovely and lovable, and yet she must die. By the time she was eleven months old black clouds had gathered in the sky, and no sun fell on the land, and everyone was sad. One day a little ugly bent man appeared. “If the Princess may come and live with me till she is fifteen,” he said, “I can turn her hair into gold.” Then the baby Princess held out her arms to him. The ugly little bent man ran away with the baby Princess before anyone could stop him, and the sun shone again, for the first time since the Princess’s birth. After a while everyone began to look forward to the day when the Princess would be fifteen, and would come back. When the day arrived the palace was decorated with roses, and the King and Queen put on their State robes. Just as the clock struck twelve the ugly little man appeared. “Where is the Princess?” cried the King and Queen. “She is here,” said the little man, “but before you see her you must promise me my reward.” “What is it?” demanded the King. “I want to marry the Princess,” said the ugly little bent man. The King and Queen looked at each other. “I suppose you must have her,” said the King, “but I do not like it.” The little bent man smiled. “The spell is past,” he said. There was the lovely Princess, with golden hair falling to her feet. A sudden change came over the little man. His face grew young and handsome, and he became tall and straight. “I was under a cruel spell,” he said; “until I won the hand of the Princess. The Sun Fairy is my godmother, and she helped me to change the Princess's hair to gold on condition that she could have my Princess until she was fifteen. Now we are all happy.” Q: What burns to keep a secret? A: Sealing wax. Q.: When is the sun very generous? A.: When it tips the clouds with gold.

SAFETY FIRST. A few days ago a very nervous, timid-looking woman, accompanied by rather a robust farmer, came on the platform of a little railway station in a remote spot in the country. For a short while she seemed to direct her attention to the time-table, but not finding there the satisfaction she sought, she stepped up to the stationmaster as he came out of his office. “‘Will you kindly tell me if the 3.15 has gone yet?” she asked in apparent concern. “Oh. yes, about twenty minutes ago,” he replied. “And when will the 4.30 be along, do you think?” she continued. “Why, not for some time yet," was the response. “Are there any expresses before then?” “Not one.” “And goods trains?” “No.” “Nothing at all?” “Nothing whatever." “Are you quite sure?” “Certainly I am, or I wouldn't have said so.” “Then,” said the questioning dame, turning to her husband, “I think we will cross the line, William.”

LITTLE PEOPLE—You will be very very sorry to hear of the death of Bernard Coughlan, Kingsdown, aged 11—one of the first boys to join Our Circle—and I know you will all join me in sending his family our deepest sympathy.